


We Reap What We Sow

by hannibanni753



Series: We Reap What We Sow [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Massage, Minion Revenge, Never mistreat Q-Branch staff, Not even if you're the quartermaster, Tied-Up Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:13:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibanni753/pseuds/hannibanni753
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh no. Can someone tell me how the hell he got in our system?! - Oh shit, shit, shit!”<br/>Q remembered his calamitous outburst, which had gotten him into this precarious situation, as he suspected. </p><p>How Q learns that he should be nicer to his minions in order to avoid punishment in form of a diabolical Double-Oh-Agent</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Reap What We Sow

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing  
> not beta'd  
> constructive criticism is very welcome :)

“Oh no. Can someone tell me how the hell he got in our system?! - Oh shit, shit, shit!”

Q remembered his calamitous outburst, which had gotten him into this precarious situation, as he suspected. He found himself tied up lying on a table in the very lab of Q-Branch. He recognized the rope as his latest invention, newly designed with additional fibres that were soaked with synthetic chemicals. They were not only designed to adapt to a form when contacted with body heat but also contained a slight dose of poison to increase temporary paralysis. This made an escape downright impossible, which was _now_ inconvenient. The new equipment needed more testing they had told him when he had come to. Of course, they could have tested it on bloody _anybody_. He knew there was more to it. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant in that moment to assume the hacking had been someone else’s fault. The thing was that he almost never made any mistakes, which was why, if anybody could afford that kind of attitude, it was him. So naturally, it had showed more often in the past. One time too many he had been unfair it seemed. He had to pay for it now though, obviously. That was what cold blooded revenge looked like in Q-Branch.

He would never have let them do it, but it all happened so quickly and he had been overpowered faster than he could realize what was going on. They had pressed the duct tape to his mouth – another ‘test object’ containing one dose of chloroform - enough to knock a person out. Well, he had passed out instantly, so no worries at its success, he thought drily.

But now he was awake; had been for hours it seemed to him. His body threatened to fall asleep due to his restraints and probably the poisoned rope. In the beginning he had hardly been able to stop himself from squirming and the attempts to free himself, furious that his own weapon had been used against him. Q only occasionally stopped his fruitless efforts to glare daggers at those minions that were around to notice. And those looks were meant to kill. He would have threatened and sworn at each and every passing soul, if it weren’t for the efficiently silencing tape.

For the thousandth time he tried to draw attention to himself with the highly popular strategy of intense staring. But since his energy was slowly seeping away, his stare became more pleading than menacing. Uselessly vegetating, he was miserable. He could not have been THAT bad a superior, could he???

There was always at least one minion close by to monitor every development. When their eyes met, the currently posted minion just shrugged and informed him “We’re just examining the rope’s elasticity in connection with the long-lasting exposure to body heat.”

‘ _Long-lasting_ exposure’? How long did they intend to keep him here?! His new found fury showed on his face, the more so as there was no other way to make his feelings towards that idea known. Incapable to protest – despite all efforts – he had to suffer through the change that went through his body. First it felt like it was only the heating in the room that was turned up some degrees. But when another minion brushed his shoulder by accident, he knew that he had mistaken heightened sensibility for heating up. That knowledge didn’t help his body’s reaction though, since his face started to show –

“A beautiful blush, Quartermaster!” he heard a familiar voice say.

 _007!_ Wonderful.

His eyes went wide when Bond came into view, laughing like the bastard he was. This was a nightmare. Q felt vulnerable. How was he supposed to be taken seriously by all the Double-Ohs after this? And when he thought the whole situation couldn’t get any worse, the minion cheerfully announced “Oh right - sorry boss, I meant to tell you sooner – 007 volunteered to take the nightshift of overseeing you.” And with that he left.

Q could not believe his ears, when he turned his head towards the leaving minion, as if to confirm that he just misheard. Bond, in the meantime, dragged a chair over, sat down next to Q and grinned his wicked grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. His gaze wandered lasciviously down Q’s body. Q twisted nervously under the scrutiny of Bond’s eyes. He became very self-conscious. How must he look in Bond’s eyes?

His arms were drawn behind his back in a parallel line so the hand of one arm connected with the elbow of the other. The cardigan was pushed back to the elbow so that the rope poison could sink into the skin of his forearms unhinderedly. This position forced his chest upwards, while there was more rope a few inches down his stomach, wrapped around it several times with the endings fixed to the sides of the table with minimal leeway - and of course on bare skin, to maximize the poisonous effect. And due to his fidgeting the already pulled up piece of clothing was even more messed up. So there was quite a bit of exposed skin there to see, at any rate more than Q would have wished to reveal. Finally - because the minions were evil – his trousers were folded up for the rope to dig into his skin right above his ankles and those were each fixed to a different table-leg. So, in short, his legs were spread wide for Bond to – ah, let’s not go there! God, how he hated this whole situation. He felt like a sacrificial offering.

He also was exhausted of the permanent restraint and despite the present Double-Oh, he was about to drift off to sleep. But naturally, Bond wasn’t able to sit still for long. Suddenly he got up, looming over Q, whose alertness came back on immediately. For a moment, Bond only looked at him thoughtfully, hands crossed behind his back. Q’s stare was challenging.

“Are you comfortable?” Q’s stare darkened, if it was at all possible. Oblivious to that, Bond went on “It doesn’t look comfortable.”

 _Really?_ You think so?? Q frowned his most forceful frown.

Bond let out a chuckle. “You must have really pissed off your people! Let me ease your discomfort!”

Q followed with his eyes – because what could he really do? – as Bond took his tie and loosened it until it came off. He then went to Q’s legs and pulled off his shoes.

What the hell?

“Hmmmmph” was the first thing he tried in hours, as he looked up accusingly.

“Oh come on, Q, don’t you want to try out my famous foot massage? I’ve brought my skills in that profession to perfection – due to lots of practice of course!” Bond dared with a glimmer in his eyes and smiled broadly at Q.

Without waiting for any sign of consent, he started massaging Q’s left foot.

What the _HELL_? _Stop_ that, Bond! His gaze told him.

The only reaction he got, was a deliberately aimed treatment of his reflex zone. Q moaned into the duct tape and let his head drop down on the table. For a moment there, the touch was almost too much. His skin was so sensitive now. Stupid poison. He didn't want to give Bond the impression that he was an easy target. He tried to concentrate on the thought to note hyper-sensibility as side-effects of the poison. But it went all out the window, when his other foot received the same level of attention from Bond. Because then he noticed the growing tension in his crotch. Nonono… Don’t let this happen! Think of death and destruction!

“So you like the treatment after all.” Bond remarked most redundantly, as he caressed the soles of Q’s feet with delicate fingers. As Q made the effort to look up again for a heart-felt glare, he had to shut his eyes instead. Bond had hit a sensitive spot just then perfectly right, so Q’s toes curled up and he tried to arch up his back. This was less than ideal and less than satisfying, for the ropes didn’t allow any movements at all. And he had a feeling that Bond had timed the attack right on purpose. But all he could do in his defence was toss and turn his head, scratch at what little of his arms he could grasp, and then whine quietly in defeat and sigh, while he helplessly had to watch his ever growing errection and a very diabolically grinning Bond.

His face was now flushed all over and his breath hitched. It didn’t help that he was only able to breathe through his nose. Unrelenting, Bond worked to uncurl Q’s toes, until he didn’t feel his feet anymore. As his breath started to only come shallow now, sweat started to form on his forehead and on his back. And still, he could not MOVE! It was maddening. So he changed his tactics and tried to relax into the massage and go with it, but that only resulted in a high whimpering sound. He was so embarrassed. But on the plus side, his face was already reddened from the heat, so there was no possibility to blush even further, or so he thought...

When the pressure in his trousers became unbearable, he started to writhe and whine steadily. And imploringly he looked at Bond through his glasses with big, bright, watery eyes. The mortifying part of it all was that Bond hadn’t even touched any more of his body than his bloody feet and Q was ready to come in his pants. As all the feelings crossed his face, Bond watched with fascination how Q’s desperation grew. Part of him enjoyed the torture of his smartass Quartermaster. A lot. He had never even dreamt of such an opportunity for payback. But it was also hard to not let his own arousal show. That’s not what he wanted to focus on tonight though. He really wanted to see the always perfectly composed man in front of him come undone.

After a particularly heartbreaking sound from the person in question, Bond gave up working at his feet and stepped to the side of the table. Q looked up at him in such a desperate manner and tried in vain to lean towards him; Bond almost didn’t want to stop to revel in the sight presented in front of him. But then again the Quartermaster deserved it, for all of his snarky comments during his missions. Q’s hair was a mess, from all the tossing of his head and the sweat it was disheveled and partly sticking to his head. His cheeks were so gorgeously red.

Bond watched his facial expressions intensely as he deliberately brushed a hand over Q’s cock. The reaction was immediate: Q’s body bucked up, or at least he tried, and his eyes went wide, pupils dilated. Bond guessed that the sound that came out, might have been a very desperate begging sound and he predatorily showed Q his teeth. As deep as the ropes could cut, Q looked like he was one touch away from a seizure. What finally made Bond give in was one single tear that rolled down Q’s cheek, alongside leaving out an involuntary sob.

Bond unzipped Q’s fly, pushed down trousers and pants quite unceremoniously to free his pulsing cock. It didn’t take much. Bond caressed the tip of Q’s cock with his digit, and stroked down the shaft once and Q came all over Bond’s hand.

When Q had calmed down a bit, Bond got some tissues to wipe away all the mess. He ripped off the duct tape, so Q was able to take a deep breath.

“Thank you.” Were the first words he got out.

“It’s me who has to thank you, Quartermaster. It is not every day that one can harass a superior and get away with it.” Bond answered swiftly with a smug expression. He held a water bottle to Q’s mouth who gratefully drank a few sips.

“Who said you could get away with it?”

“Well, look at you. You’re hardly a threat now, are you?” Bond laughed and put the duct tape back over Q’s mouth, much to the horror of the Quartermaster.


End file.
